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forlix · 8 months ago

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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it��s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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remlionheart · 2 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡MDNI ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

ᡣ𐭩 I really have no excuse for this tbh, it’s midnight and I’m ovulating and overly eager boyfriend Yuuji was heavy on my mind 🙂‍↕️💫 ((aged up characters)) yuujixfem!reader ᡣ𐭩

yuuji who just loves touching you 24/7. whose hand is always so eager to brush across your skin, he often forgets his surroundings.

the two of you are on his couch one night with some b-grade horror movie that he and junpei wanted to watch playing in the background. junpei’s sitting on the floor next to you guys, both of them going back and forth with so many trivial facts about the film you don’t even see how they’re paying attention to it.

your eyes are heavy, your body spooned against yuuji’s with a throw blanket loosely covering you. his fingers are running through your hair, him and junpei still going on and on - something about the director’s cut and an alternate ending when suddenly, his other hand is wedging itself between your thighs.

playing with the opening of your shorts as your eyes dart to his from over your shoulder. he grins back at you, holding a finger to his lips. junpei continues to stare at the screen in front of him, completely unaware of the other show that’s about to start promptly behind him.

the movie flickers across the grainy tv screen, an eerie piano melody echoing across the room while the main girl finds herself lost and alone in a dark forest as a thunderstorm starts. you’re doing everything you can to focus on the details of it. to avoid flinching from the way yuuji spreads you apart. his two thick fingers tentatively grazing along your folds, gathering up slick you didn’t even realize was there causing you to grind further into him. your back arching so perfectly it makes his cock twitch.

you close your eyes, pretending to be asleep in case junpei decides to look up at either of you. you know he probably won’t given how entranced he is by this director - but still! this is reckless, even for your perpetually-ready-to-make-you-cum boyfriend.

yuuji keeps somehow talking though. keeps laughing and acting like his dick isn’t hard as a fucking rock and pressed firmly against your ass as he begins to lazily play with your clit, drawing heavenly circles that have you suddenly biting at the side of your hand to keep yourself from letting out a dangerously suppressed moan.

you do your absolute best to pretend you’re still asleep, carefully rolling over to face him as he continues to nonchalantly toy with you. lightly running uppp and downnn your slit. you feel like you’re going to explode, pathetically attempting to pass off a whimper as a yawn when you feel him start to prod at your entrance.

“aw, she’s tired huh?” junpei comments.

“yeah,” yuuji smiles, biting back a laugh at the way your mouth drops open and you eyes nearly cross when he finally slips a finger into you. “she’s pretty spent.”

a chase scene ensues, the loud stomps and suspenseful music of the killer running after his victim being enough to cover up the wet, squelching sounds of yuuji’s fingers slamming blissfully into your gummy walls.

he smiles at you again, mouthing “it’s okay, it’s okay.” as his fingers go deeper, but slower, hitting that spot you like at just the right angle.

“hey junpei, sorry to ask but - would you mind grabbing me a beer?”

“oh yeah, of course” he says, getting to his feet.

the moment he’s out of the room, yuuji’s suddenly knuckles deep again, your needy little cunt clamping around him so nice and snug while your eyes and body both plead with him.

he lets his mouth catch all of the cute, desperate noises you can’t hold back anymore, his tongue swirling against yours feverishly while you struggle to keep your voice down. luckily though, your lewd whines seem to blend perfectly into the screams coming from the tv.

“your pussy’s so soft ‘n so pretty, y’know that?” he whispers, reeling in the way you’re drenching him. “i could play with it forever if you’d let me.”

his words make you dizzy, your body instantly wanting him back where he was as he pulls out and licks his fingers clean from the mess you made, letting out his own little groan at your taste. “you’ll get the whole thing later, don’t worry.” he promises, placing a light kiss on your forehead right as junpei re-enters the room and hands him his beer.

“what all did i miss?”

“not much,” yuuji muses, cracking open his drink. “he finally got her off…”

your heart stutters in your chest, your knee swiftly nudging his.

“…the path she was on.” he finishes, swallowing down his beer. “she was soaked by the time he caught up to her.”

you softly pinch him, feeling him smile as junpei laughs, none the wiser.

the two of them continue on with their banter while you actually do doze off this time. yuuji’s hand gliding across your neck as he silently begins counting down the minutes until he gets to bury himself inside of you again.

he just can’t help it :((( he loves touching you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

#jujutsu kaisen #rem writes #jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #yuuji smut #yuji smut #itadori yuji #smut jjk #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #thots and prayers ── .✦

749 notes · View notes

ctrlhope · 5 months ago

Text

Love Thy Neighbour (m)

synopsis: Jimin is a patient man, at least, he thinks he is. But you test him so much. Can’t you just be good? Be so pretty for him? He knows you want to be. Knows you can be so perfect, just for him.

p.jimin x f.reader

𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖┊: wc: 4.5k

𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖┊: genre: yandere/dark, smut, dark content

𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖┊: content: yandere/dark!jimin, noncon, dubcon, implied non-human!jimin, kidnapping, use of a sex doll, cruel and unusual punishment, mindbreak, fear play, blood, biting, marking, minimal prep, cervix bruising, dehumanization (?), creampie, rough sex, jimin is lovesick and delusional and also a gross perv, lmk if i missed any <33

𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! the demons won and i finally decided to post this after it was sitting in my drafts forever <33 i wrote this about a year ago with jimin in mind, but then i posted it to my anime blog instead. if you read it over there… no you didn’t AHSSKSH it’s still probably my favourite thing i’ve ever written tbh <33 im back into the swing of writing so nightlight coming soon!! as always please read the warnings <//3

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Creak.

Footsteps. Footsteps right in front of you. Right in front of your hiding place.

Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please keep walking. Please. If there’s any god out there please make him keep walking.

Bang.

His fist hits the desk right above your head. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Why the fuck did you even hide? It was dumb. So dumb. You can’t get away. Maybe if you ran, kept running forever you could get away. But you can't. Not anymore. It’s too late for any of that.

“There you are, pretty doll.” His sick smile is all you see as he leans down, face coming into view. He’s crazy. He’s fucking crazy. You know that. You do.

You knew from the moment he knocked on your door in the middle of the night. He was practically buzzing as he rocked on his heels. His speech was weird, manic. He’s never spoken like that before. Not whenever he would come knocking on your door asking for sugar, at least.

You tried to be polite, you really did. You tried to make small talk, to politely excuse yourself, your hands shaking. You tried to close the door on him but it just wouldn’t shut as he kept rambling. His foot was shoved in the way, preventing your escape. His dirty fucking sneakers– god even now you remember them so clearly. You remember so many things you wish you didn’t.

How he fucking smiled when you looked back up at him.

It makes your stomach churn to think about it now.

You remember clearly how he grabbed you. He forced his way inside, slowly backing you against the wall. You remember how he grabbed your wrists, talked about how tiny they were in his hands. Showed you only a moment of warmth before harshly biting into the skin, red rising to the surface, coating his tongue. A sound of pain was retched from your throat, trying to pull away while his grip only got tighter. His hips forced you into the wall, trapping you. Keeping you as prey.

He said you taste delicious.

It fucking echos in your head. Makes you go insane with how it repeats over and over again. Exactly how he said the words. The lilt in his tone, the smile that made him look like he just saw the face of god. How excited he sounded at the first taste of blood.

The way you could tell that he craved more.

Craved everything you had to give.

You didn’t think demons were real before that night. Ghosts, angels– anything that goes bump in the night was just a figment of one's imagination. Maybe hallucinations. But this, this was real. How you wish this was all just some stupid hallucination.

Nothing is paranormal before you face the devil himself.

Nothing is more terrifying than when the devil wants you.

You learned that that night.

He dragged you next door, throwing you to the ground. He looked like a shadow, only a silhouette as he stood in the doorway. The moon casting a glow from behind him. You couldn't see his face, none of it was legible as you scrambled backwards. Trying, trying so desperately to put some space between yourself and the beast.

His shoulders heaved as he panted. Like a fucking monster that just got his kill.

He had.

He closed the doors. Locked them with what felt like a million keys. He started fucking giggling. Giggling like a goddamn lunatic as his demeanour changed completely. He was smiling like an innocent little kid. He was happy. The happiest you had ever seen a person before.

“Ahhh~” He sighed, glee laced in his all too cheery tone. It was like nails on a chalkboard. Speaking, churning in your ears so it's all you can hear. It mocks you. Mocks your very being. Mocks you for trying to live a normal life away from him.

You remember how he clung to you that night as you sobbed. Whining about how you shouldnt be sad, that you were home now. He’d coo, playing with your hair as he tried to ‘soothe’ your trembling body. His arms wrapped around you in a vice. It felt like he was choking the air out of your lungs.

Maybe he was trying, maybe he wanted you dead. You really had no clue. You just wanted to get away– be as far away from him as you could. You’d do anything, you told him as much. Change your name, leave the country. You promised you wouldn’t tell anybody! You would tell him anything if it meant you could leave.

But he kept you in place. Tucked in his arms. His entire body wrapped around yours, keeping you close. Keeping his face nuzzled into your neck. Smelling you. Smelling your fear.

He loves that smell.

If you let him he would breathe it in all the time, treating it as the very thing that keeps him alive. Well, until you die anyway. But he knows that won't be anytime soon! You’re strong. You're tenacious. He knows you are. You’ve dealt with so much in your life, you can deal with him too. He just knows it.

He wonders what all of your other emotions smell like.

Hmm.. What about love? That would be an interesting smell. Maybe it would be sweet like honey? Maybe bitter like chocolate… Humans are so interesting. They're so fun.

You are especially. And he knows you’ll like him too. He’s sure of it as you finally tire yourself out, falling asleep on his beat up mattress. Mmhmm crying for hours must really hurt your soul. Poor thing. He would fix it. Fix you up all nice and pretty. Yeah, he knows just how to. His pretty experiment.

Well, he thinks that’s all you are. A nice human experiment for him to play with. To learn everything about. Learn what makes them tick, what makes them laugh, what makes them cry. Seokjin told him as much. He could keep a little human as a pet, dispose of them when necessary. But… he doesn’t want to let you go! Just the thought makes him want to cry!

You are already better than he ever imagined!

Bang.

The chair blocking your body is thrown back, assaulting the wall with a deafening crash. Your hands come up, covering your ears. Shit Shit Shit! Fuck, what are you going to do, what are you going to do?! Your body forces itself as far as it can into the corner of the desk. All you can hear, all you can think about is the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

Why are you so dumb?! You knew you couldn’t win! You never win any of his games!

He squats in front of you, blocking your only means of escape. You hear him, watch him inhale deep before letting out a sick laugh. One that makes you want to cry. One that makes you feel like trying to run– trying to hide is useless. Maybe it is. You don’t see how you could possibly get away.

The pictures covering his walls tell you everything you need to know.

“Found you.” He smiles, crawling towards your body, crawling towards your last bit of safety. He looks like a monster– he is a monster. He can’t be human. He can’t. You refuse to believe it. Your legs kick, they try to get away. They try to be your last line of defence but his face only shows that of an owner looking at a puppy having a fit. He looks so fond of you.

You want to scream.

He grabs your ankle. It hurts. Everything hurts. You should’ve become numb at this point, you wish you had. You feel your body slip out from under the desk, dragged against the hard floor. Pick you up with ease, lay you down in his bed. His gross disgusting bed.

He pouts. He fucking pouts at you. Sits in front of you..

“Don't tell me you’re jealous.” His frowns, tilting his head at you. “I didn't mean to make you! I swear! I just wanted to show you. How much I love you…how good I could make my pretty doll feel.” You could never be jealous. Not of anything involving him.

Especially not involving the putrid fucking sex doll that lays next to you in bed.

How he fucked it last night, making you watch. Made you hold his hand while he thrust into the thing. Made you cup his face as he came inside.

“How I’ve been practicing just for you.” He coos, a smile gracing his lips as he moves to his knees, crawling towards you in the bed. “Humans are just so hard to understand…And I really couldn’t wait for you any longer.”

You don’t hear his words. Your eyes fixated on the doll that looks just like you. Every freckle the same, every mole. Every fucking tiny detail mirrored yours in a lifeless, hollow core made of silicon. Filled up with his cum. You don’t want to think about how many times he’s fucked it. How many times he’s pretended having sex with you while holding it close. How much he had to have spent to get such a thing.

How deep whatever he feels for you runs.

You swear it probably coats his veins. Running under every inch of this skin. Giving it colour. Giving it life. It's all you’re able to think about when he leaves you alone in the apartments. It’s hard for you to swallow. To believe for yourself. You wish it is a lie.

You let him get close. You let him into your bubble for only a second. You allow his face into your neck. Biting your skin, drawing blood once again. He loves the taste. You think he's probably obsessed with it. You wanted to recoil away, disgusted with how he hums, lapping at the skin. But you don’t. You need to let him have this. Even if it's just for a second.

You close your eyes tight. You feel him relax. He thinks you’re giving in. You know he does. You can do this. You can do this. You may have only made this decision a moment ago as you stared at the doll, but you had to do this. You had to do it for yourself. It may be the last chance you get. You can’t stop fighting.

You can do this. You can do this.

The mantra chants over and over again in your head like a prayer. You feel his hand reach up, covering your clothed breast with his palm. Massaging it carelessly, without any thought or respect for you. In his head you’re probably the same as that fucking sex doll.

Your knee shoots up. Right into his crotch. Right where it hurts the most. Your hands shove him with all the strength in your body, getting him off of you. Getting him away for only a moment while he recovers. Maybe. Maybe you can make it out of the door. Or maybe you can make it to the bathroom and lock yourself inside. Maybe you have a chance. Just maybe.

Your body scrambles off of the bed, moving faster than you ever thought was possible. You race towards the door, arm reaching out for the handle. You’re so close. You’re almost there. You’re almost able to get away.

Freedom is within your grasp, it's so close you can taste it. He forgot to lock the door, you know he did. You didn't hear any of them click back in place when he came inside. He was too caught up in the moment with trying to find you. If you make it there then maybe, just maybe you can get outside. Run as fast and as far away as you can. Call the police and escape from him. Spread the wings he’s tried to clip.

You land flat on your face.

Not even your arms are able to cushion your fall.

A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you, dragging you again. Backwards. Back into the cage. Back to him. His chest heaves. His shoulders hunch. He looks dishevelled. Crazed.

He has that fucking smile plastered on his face.

“I love it when you run. It's so pretty.” He giggles, “You know me so well.”

You kick at him, thrash your body as he pulls you closer and closer. “Get the fuck away from me!” You yell, though it falls on deaf ears. All the strength in your body is being used to get away. To try and escape from him. He can’t be human. He’s too strong. Even with your struggle he still lifts you easily, like you’re just some fucking little kid having a temper tantrem.

“I’ve been so patient…” He sighs, placing– rather, forcing you onto the edge of the bed. Your knees on the floor as your torso is pressed against the mattress. Your arms pinned behind your back with one of his hands. Your hips pinned in place with his own. You can feel his cock against you. He’s hard. “I really am patient, you know?”

He hums, gently rocking his hips against you. His entire length pressed against your cunt. Taunting you. Words are not needed for you to know what’s to come. “It’s really too bad you know? I’ve run out.”

The simple statement makes your blood run cold.

“I’ve been so gentle…so caring…” He purrs, forcing his sweatpants down his legs. Just enough for his cock to spring free. Just enough for him to be able to stroke himself. For him to press the fat head where he wants– no, no. Needs to be. “I’ve really been trying my best to be good for you.”

You wish you could see. You wish you could see everything– exactly what he is doing. What he is planning to do to your wrecked frame. If, if everything wasn’t such a surprise then maybe… maybe you could make it a little better. But like this… you’re helpless. You’re trapped. You hate it. You can’t stand it. You wish you still had more tears left to cry. But you know it’s over. You can’t do anything now.

Exactly how he wants it– wants you.

You feel him stop moving, an excited gasp resonating from his throat. His entire presence changes in a flash, giddiness taking him over as the cogs in his brain turn. Making up his own story, his own reality changing all over again. “Unless, you don't want me to be good for you? You want me to take what I want? That’s why you’ve been trying to run and hide?”

His frame towers over yours, his full weight pressing against your back forcing you deeper into the bed as he mumbles into your ear. “All you had to do was say so~”

All you can do is whimper in response. Whimper like a wounded animal that's been forced to accept their fate. Your head is blank, devoid of all thoughts and feelings. There is nothing. Nothing you can do.

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe a small part of you does like it. Who knows. You certainly don’t.

He blows gently on your ear, teasing you before he leans back. Your bottoms are forced down, exposing your cunt to the entire room. You can feel him practically buzzing with excitement. With some sick pleasure found deep within his gut.

“So pretty!” He whines, spreading your cheeks to get a full view of your pretty little cunt. You hate that you’re already wet. You hate that the feeling of his cock did it to you just moments before. You hate that he can see it. You hate the way pride bubbles up in his gut. The way you can hear him lick his lips like a starved man.

Hate what the other little voice is saying inside of your head. Hate that even maybe a little bit of your soul wants to feel him. The quiet fucked up voice that you always try to silence in the dead of night when you’re left with your thoughts.

“Mm… I wanna taste you so bad but… I really can’t wait anymore… what am I supposed to do!!” You can practically hear the pout plastered on his lips. “Ah~”

The fat head of his cock finds its way back to your cunt, dragging itself up and down your lips. Milking every last bit of wetness out of your hole. Your nails dig into your own hands— maybe his. It’s hard to tell where you stop and he begins. When he’s this close it’s hard to tell much of anything.

“We have forever together don’t we?” He chuckles, his head stopping at your unprepped little hole. Attempting to push into it with just enough pressure to have you squirm. Have you bite down on the sheet to silence any sounds that might try to come through. He’s too thick. “We can try out all sorts of fun things together~”

His thumb aids as he tries to push the head of his cock inside. Prodding, trying to force his way inside without a care in the world for how it might hurt. How it might feel for you. He’s too big— you’re, you’re too tight. You can’t take it! It won’t fit you just, just–!

“Mmmm!!” A muffled cry breaks free from your throat as the head of his cock buries itself in your cunt. Your ears ring, pain taking over your senses as he lets out a mouth watering, near pornographic moan from above you.

His grip on your wrists tighten, eyes staring at where he’s fucked himself into you. Wow~ it’s so pretty. He never expected a human to feel this good! It’s incredible! Magnificent! And this is just the first inch of him? Oh my… he can only imagine what bottoming out with feel like— how it will feel when his cock is pressed against your cervi—

Wait wait!! He’s getting ahead of himself again. A gasp leaves his throat as he pulls out, a muffled whine leaving your own. Your hole clenches around nothing. What a cute little thing! It’s calling him back in!! He knew you wanted this, he knows all about you huh?

He drags his cock back and forth through your lips again, red mixing in with the pretty white. He dips his cock head over and over again into your entrance, thrusting himself deeper and deeper every time. Stretching you just perfectly around his length.

Hmm, humans like prep right? He figures that this is close enough. His doll doesn’t need it. She just takes him right away— someday you’ll be the same! He just needs to break you in! But until then, he needs to savour this… who knows when you might come around again?

Mmm… you’re too mean to him. Yeah, that’s all it is.

Ah, it’s too bad he’s too lost to notice you’re already falling apart. Your back is arching on its own. Working without permission to give him a better angle. Your hips bucking, leaning back ever so slightly as he presses into your cunt. Urging him just a little deeper. Your pussy is too wet to think about anything, your head in a daze as he teases you, taunts you relentlessly.

You don’t want this— at least you think you don’t. But, it’s so hard to know what you really want when your head gets like this. When it’s actually feeling good. When the pleasure mixes with pain to concoct something dangerous. Something that makes you unsure of anything, really. Maybe you’re dumb, maybe you’re stupid. Yeah. You probably are. But that’s okay. He likes that.

He likes you.

He slides his cock inside of your hole, his hand moving to your ass as thrusts his hips. Forcing his cock deeper and deeper with each stroke. Your walls clenching around every inch that pushes its way inside. God, you’ve never felt so full. You’ve never felt anything like this. Anything like his cock, anything like him.

Whimpers, whines, all sorts of sounds escape your throat as you let him do what he pleases. Give into whatever twisted pleasure is being given to you. It’s hard to stop them when he’s even louder— panting like a fucking dog as he feels you. Feels every inch of you. Makes you two become one.

He fucks into you so hard it hurts. So hard that your entire body is being pushed into the bed, spine curving up to meet him with every demonic thrust of his hips. Every time the skin of his thighs meets your ass, every time the head of his cock meets with your cervix, pain racks through your body. You can’t take it. You feel like you’re going crazy. You feel like you’re the insane one.

The sound of skin against skin penetrating the sound of your ears like some sort of sick, twisted song. A song he plays so well. One you don’t want him to stop. No matter how much it hurts, how it stings you, you just can’t find it in yourself to push him away. His moans feel like a siren’s voice, luring you closer and closer, pushing you so close to the edge.

“Why’s she so mean!” He whines, his thrusts frantic and hurried. Only caring for his own pleasure, only caring about him. “Won’t let me in any deeper doll! Can you believe that?” He groans, pressing his cock so hard against your cervix you nearly scream in pain. Your body thrashes, trying to get away from the sensation.

He shushes you quietly, leaning his torso against your back as he coos. “Shh… shh… it’s okay… we won’t try that today okay? Must be too much for you… poor thing.” His hips relent, slowly rocking into your battered cunt to give you a little bit of a break. To rest before the main event.

You want to cringe at how wet you sound, how messy you’ve become due to his cock and his cock alone. How greedily your pussy takes him, urging him back with every thrust. Wanting it. Wanting him.

You see his arm reach past your head, grabbing onto your mimics hair. Pulling the doll closer. Holding its head so it’s staring right into your eyes. It’s so lifeless. So hollow.

“It’s okay.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Someday you’ll take me just like she can, yeah? You’ll be sooo~ good for me.” His hips start to pick up their pace again, thighs slapping against your ass so hard you might see stars. So hard you actually want to listen to him.

“I had to break her in too, real good.” He pants out, losing himself in the feeling of your tight, warm walls.

You flinch away. You can’t look at it anymore. Can’t look at a face that is exactly your own yet so cold and distant. So lost. Used for months on end. Maybe a little sense comes back to you, a small part of reality seeping back into your skull.

He tsks. Fucking tsks and shakes his head in disappointment. “That won’t do… I need my girls to like each other…” He grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at the thing. The creature with your hair and eyes.

“Kiss it.” His voice changes in a second, morphing into something commanding. Something scary.

Fuck reality. Living in whatever dream you’ve created for yourself is better. Better than facing this. You don’t want to disobey. You want to listen, want him to let you cum. Want to be good. Maybe want his praise, even if it’s just a little.

Your lips meet with the cold, lifeless silicon. Tasting whatever disgusting leftover cum can be found on its lips. He pushes the head against your lips, forcing you to lick your tongue inside. “Adorable!!”

He likes it. He likes it too much. You can tell.

Tell by the way his hips pick up speed, forcing your used hole to take him over and over again. Forcing you to accept him into your body. Forcing you to fall for his cock. Make sure no one else will ever be able to use it. Use you like the way he wants to.

Can tell by the way his cock twitches, his thrusts becoming sloppy. His pace completely out the window as he searches for nothing but his own release.

Maybe you like it too. Like the way his cum tastes. Like the way he took this, took all of you for himself. All of you flesh as his. The coil tightens in your stomach, white specks start to form behind your eyelids. You’re close, too fucking close you just can’t take it anymore.

A loud moan leaves your lips, muffled by the silicon held against your mouth. Waves of pleasure crashing through your frame like a tidal wave of ecstasy as white paints the inside of your walls. Ears ringing, vision gone white as endorphins fill your brain making you forget— forget everything about this moment. How fucked up it is. How you want more.

Your walls clamp around his cock as it jerks in your cunt, milking every last drop of cum from him. Filling you up until you’re stuffed. Until you can’t think anymore. Until you’re so tired you just want to collapse.

He drops the doll letting you pull your head back to finally be able to breathe again fully. Your frame slumps against the bed. Tired. Drained of everything it has to give.

He slowly pulls out of your abused little hole, watching the way it flutters around nothing. Watching the white mixed with red slowly drip out of it onto the rug. “Humans are such incredible little things…”

He smiles, shallowly dipping a finger inside your walls before popping it in his mouth. Just a little taste. “You did so good doll…” He pets your hair, gives you some sort of comfort after everything he’s done. It’s the least you deserve.

He moves your body into the bed with ease, pulling a blanket over your shaking form. A nap would be good right now. It’s always good to give humans at least one nap a day! Mhmm… and you seem like you could use one.

He moves behind you, wrapping an arm around your body from behind. Pulling you close to his chest. Making no mind to fix your clothes. This is good. This is right. It’s how it’s always supposed to have been!! Ah, and now he has all the time to make you understand that too. He’s so lucky. So lucky to have found such a good human.

“Night night dolly…” He whispers in your ear, brushing your hair gently. Coaxing you to sleep. “Let’s have a great day tomorrow too, yeah?”

Right. Tomorrow. Cause this is forever.

You can’t help the small smile that creeps to your lips at the thought. Forever. ♡

⋆𐙚 if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a kofi!

645 notes · View notes

bombuni · 5 months ago

Note

hi babi !!! js wna say I love ur user ++ ur writing sm :3 was thinking if maybe u can do anything related to stoner bf San if that's okay?? like maybe him being vv needy while high idk. no rush, xoxo!

contains: sub!san x gn!reader, drug usage obv, bj’s, very soft tbh

minors dni

San’s touchy.

He’s just like that as a person, you’ve come to realize. His hand is always around your shoulders or waist, fingers finding their home in the crook of you neck. You let him, seeing as that’s how he shows his love with everyone. It’s just-sometimes he gets too touchy. Like, he’d breathe for you if he could.

It’s especially bad when he gets high. Once the smoke fills the room, he’s babbling on about the spots on your face and the shape of your cupids bow, waxing poetry about how your touch makes him feel. You’re not complaining at all. It’s only bothersome when he does it during his downtime and you’re busy. Today is not one of those times.

“Baby.”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes glazed as you mindlessly watch whatever San had decided to put on in the background. You can feel his hot breath fanning onto your neck, the heat of the room and his body filling up your insides.

It’s clear San’s already gone, his low tolerance making him an easy target every time you two smoke together.

“Are you done with work?”

He’s cute when he’s mindless. You turn to look at him with a lovesick smile on your face, “Yes, Sannie. I am.”

San blushes, full-on like a tomato, when you look at him. He giggles like you’ve told the funniest joke, hiding his face in his hands as he scoots away from you like some embarrassed kid out with his first girlfriend.

“You can’t-you can’t just look at me like that,” he still giggles as he speaks, peeking his eyes from behind his hands.

You know San-you know that even though he backs away from you every inch closer you get to him, his itch to touch you only grows. He just gets an extra layer of shyness when he’s high, but it’s easy for you to break through it.

“How am I looking at you?”

He freezes when your hands easily spread his thighs apart, giving you complete freedom to sit between his legs. You’re some sort of Medusa to him, turning him rock hard just with your eyes. He feels his breathing grow heavy when one of your hands traces patterns on his knee; a hot, tingly buzzing sensation following your touch. It makes him fold for you immediately.

He watches you with half lidded eyes, “Like you’re gonna eat me. Are you gonna eat me?”

You chuckle at that, “Wish I could. Then I could keep you forever,”

He takes that tiny comment seriously. Like the mere idea of being apart from you steals the air from his lungs, “I am yours forever.”

Your smile down at him makes his heart grow with love, he feels it every time he’s with you. When he gets like this he truly believes you keep him alive just by looking at him. Your touch is just a nice bonus.

He holds your wrist gently, “Can I show you? That I’m yours forever?”

“No,” you gently take his bigger hand off of you, “I’ll show you.”

San’s not exactly sure what you mean, but he lets you do whatever. He watches as you gently take his sweatpants off, cooing niceties that make a whine build in the back of his throat when he lifts his hips up for you.

You toss his pants to the side, dragging warm fingers up over his thighs tantalizingly slowly until they reach his bulge. He’s hard already, and he’s on the verge of tears at the feeling of you palming him. The way you roll his big cock against the fabric of his underwear makes him slowly go insane, hips bucking every so often when you squeeze his cock. Precum stains his boxers now, but he doesn’t care. No, it just shows how much he belongs to you.

He can’t support the weight of his thoughts anymore. He lets himself tilt back, head banging against the arm of the couch. San lets out a surprised whine when he feels your wet mouth against his neck. He flinches, before succumbing to the ticklish feeling. You’ll leave your mark on him and he’ll be proud to show it off.

San is overly sensitive. The feeling of your sweet lips and loving hand is already too much for him. He’s keening and moaning like a slut, letting himself feel every little detail because he trusts you. Just knowing it’s you makes it all the more hotter.

“My sweet boy-“ a kiss and a moan, “do you want more?”

His head raises so fast you’ll scare it’ll fall off, “Yes, please.”

He sounds like he’s about to cry and, god, does it make you throb. You pull his cock free from his boxers, as it aches and begs for you. It’s so pretty and wet, soaked in precum and San with his panting, flushed face is the perfect picture of desperation.

His hips buck to find friction, “Can I put it in your mouth, please? I’ll be good, just-please, can you touch me?”

You cut off his desperate pleading by stroking him once. Immediately, he’s putty in your hands. His entire body relaxes against the couch, letting you control him and letting you decide what to do about his needs. All he knows is that it’s you who’s touching him, and that’s all he needs.

The lewd sounds coming from his wet cock fill the room, making him even more light-headed. Everything he’s feeling makes him think he’s in a dream, and when your mouth sucks on his tip like a lollipop, it just makes him hit cloud nine.

His hands fly to the back of your head as you take all of him in, every inch that fills your mouth slowly sending him deeper into a frenzy.

He groans, “‘S so good, baby, I love you, thank you for taking my cock-“

You bob up and down, letting San buck his hips while his mouth shoots off whatever his 2 functioning braincells can think of. Most of it is just ‘I love you’s.’

He gasps as you take him to the back of your throat, the feeling of you gagging on him burning his insides with desire. He fucks your mouth-once, twice- before he shoots his cum down your throat.

“Fuck-I fucking love you-“ he says as he holds you still, making you take what you caused. In his mind, it’s his reward, getting to prove to you just how good you make him feel. How you’re the only one for him, and he’s the only for you.

He pants below you, face flushed and sweaty, as you let him go with a pop, “‘M so sleepy. Can you cuddle me?”

You tuck him back into his boxers before letting yourself plop onto him and wrapping your arms around him. Who can say no to San?

bom note: i think his extreme romantic needy side would come out when he’s inebriated at all. like he’s truly a lover boy at heart. also excuse my lack of knowledge on weed or if this feels ‘inaccurate’ as i literally only take edibles once in a blue moon

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez rpf #choi san #san #san x reader #san x you #choi san smut #san smut

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mellowswriting · 9 months ago

Note

How about slow, sweaty, make up sex with Din Djarin! Thank you!

a real apology

pairing || Din Djarin x f!Reader

word count || ~ 900

summary || sweet, slow makeup sex

content || SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, din is whipped, fluff, no use of Y/N, unbeta'd (all mistakes are my own, and probably thanks to the tequila tbh)

a/n || I got progressively more drunk as I wrote this, so... enjoy!

Din Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You have no idea how long Din has had you like this - pinned beneath the heft of his body, your thighs shaking as his fingers and tongue coax yet another orgasm from you. He moans against you as he feels it hit. Your back arches, your nails dig into his scalp, and you cry his name so sweetly he damn near finishes right then and there. It feels like you’re floating, your body and soul detached under his talented touch. He doesn’t stop until you push his head away. Even then, he just occupies his mouth by trailing wet, sloppy kisses along your thigh. Goosebumps follow the brush of his stubble.

Those dark eyes stare up at you, his pupils dilated as he takes in the vision you make beneath him. He can’t get enough of you. It’s been too long - damn near a week without those soft words and sweet touches he has grown so addicted to. It was stupid, a silly argument about a bounty of all things. Din knew almost immediately that he was in the wrong. Pride caught the apology he owed you between his teeth.

None of that matters, now. Not when he’s searing his repentance into your body with every touch.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He asks before he presses a kiss to your navel. You hum a contemplative sound as he works his way up your body. The air is thick with the scent of sex, something he’s missed more than he realized. Your skin shimmers with sweat and Din just can’t stop himself. The flat of his tongue drags up your sternum. He just can’t get enough of your taste, even as you squirm beneath him.

“I think you’re getting there.” You finally sigh, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and pulling his body flush against yours. The closeness settles that restless, agitated animal that has paced in his chest all week. Din leans closer, his arms bracketing your head, and he kisses you. It’s soft and sweet despite the way his cock throbs against your thigh. Your warmth soaks into him, bare skin against bare skin. As your hands cup his face, only one thought runs through his head.

The only place in the universe he truly belongs to is in your arms.

“Mmm…” You hum against his lips. “Definitely getting there.”

Din can’t help but chuckle at that cheeky stubbornness he’s come to love. He drags his lips across your throat, reveling in the way your sass melts into a heady sigh. Your hands skirt down the planes of his back and settle on his ass with a playful squeeze.

“C’mon, Djarin.” There’s an edge of demand in your tone, a little desperation. “Show me how sorry you really are.”

That’s all it takes for him to sink into you with one devastating roll of his hips. All words slip away at the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him. Din presses you into the soft mattress, pinned beneath his full weight as if to keep you there forever. As if you would ever dream of going anywhere. The pace he sets is slow, a steady rock of his hips that leaves you wrecked beneath him. Your nails dig into his back, pulling him impossibly closer.

“I’ve got you,” The whisper is soaked in affection and longing, a promise he always intends to keep. Din presses his forehead against yours, his dark eyes wide as he greedily consumes the sight of you. So pliant and vulnerable, consumed by the feeling only he can pull from you.

Your eyes flutter and roll as he arches his hips just so, dragging against that sensitive spot until you shake. The angle lets him grind against your clit. He doesn’t let up, far too insatiable for the feeling of you falling apart under his touch. You’re so sensitive, so responsive to everything he gives you. Every sweet sound he pulls from you only makes him want more. It drives him fucking wild.

“Don’t stop,” Your whispered plea slithers down his spine and pools in his belly, pure warmth and need searing into his very DNA. He has to bury his face in your neck. The way you look, all strung out and cockdrunk, threatens to end this far too soon. Your fingers dig into his hair as he works you closer to another devastating orgasm. “Oh, fuck -”

A broken growl rips from his chest as you fall apart for him. He swears this is the closest he’ll ever get to nirvana in this damned life - the sound of you crying out his name, the wet gush of your cunt wetting his thighs, the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. He follows after you only a beat after. His teeth dig into your shoulder as he buries himself to the hilt, stuffing you full of his cock as he spills inside you.

The air fills with the sound of heavy breathing as you both come down, your bodies still entwined with one another. An atmosphere of peace settles around you like a thick, warm blanket. The way he melts into you only adds to that feeling. It’s impossible to tell just how long the two of you stay like this - so wrapped up in each other that you can’t tell who begins where. Neither of you wants to break that peace. His lips find that sweet spot over your pulse.

“I am sorry, cyare.” Din murmurs between short, sweet kisses. “Truly.”

“I know.” You whisper. Your fingers drag through his messy mop of curls, scratching his scalp until he turns into a purring beast above you. “I forgive you.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader smut

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thelilylav · 7 months ago

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Y'know what? Fuck it (gives u guys a list of poc artists to listen to cause the white ppl on the music side of tumblr have been embarassing me)

List is under the cut, and warning bc I made it very long

Rock:

Los Abuelos De La Nada

Gesu No Kiwami Otobe

Chuck Berry

Ben E. King

Los Prisoneros

Ahmed Fakroun (ok this one's french art rock but in my book it still counts)

Burnout Syndromes (been fucking w them since I got into Haikyuu lmao)

Infinity Song (their hater song genuinely gets me every time LMAO)

People in the Box

N.E.R.D (my god if u don't know them.. idk dude my brother has been obsessed w them for forever so i just was not getting away regardless lol)

Punk/Punk Rock (& other punk subgenres):

Nova Twins (u must listen to them it's just the way it's gotta be guys)

Rina Sawayama (her hatred of Matty Healy is so attractive. i cannot believe i found her two years ago cause i still remember i would not shut up when i first heard her music it was so good)

BABYMETAL (the way their band name just straight up screams at people gets me every time lmaooo)

Indie:

The Younger Lovers

Mashrou Leila

Stella Jang

Shak SYrn (Jenni is on repeat in my room at any given moment)

Steve Lacy (if u listen to more than just Bad Habit u will find an actuall amazing discography)

Jenny Nuo (i have been OBSESSED w her music since like 2021 ish and it is a crime she hasn't blown up more imo)

Nujabes

Hemlocke Springs (oooo i hate that she does not get more love!!! synth pop and alt indie is such a fun niche like!!!)

Lyn Lapid (in my head she's huge but i have recently learned that artists i think r super popular may be unknown to an entire genre of ppl soo)

Megagonefree (found them on ig and omg!! PLS go check them out genuinely)

boa (i am once again shaming u if u don't know them)

Wallice

JAZZ (in all caps bc I fucking LOVE jazz no it's not dead go listen to jazz rn motherfuckers):

Idris Muhammad

Esperanza Spalding

Joanna Wang (ok she does pop and folk music too but idk she felt most appropriate here)

SAMARA JOY (put. some. respect. on. her. name. i would actually go to war for her i am not kidding. also this is in all caps bc MY MOM GOT TO SEE HER LIVE??? AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHO SHE WAS PLS I WAS SO MAD OMGGG but i've been promised tickets next time so we're good)

Sade (my og one and only)

Funk:

Fadoul

George Clinton (i mean he's just a classic yknow)

Parliament (Give Up the Funk can make me dance like no other i swear)

Stevie Wonder (i mean.. like if we're on the topic of classics anyway then...)

Michael Jackson/The Jackson 5 (moreso his earlier stuff if my memory isn't lying to me.. look it's been a second since i listened to mj IM SORRY i am a busy person ok TT)

R&B:

Valerie June

Maxine Nightingale (if u don't listen to her... how do u have fun? actual question i put her on every time i need to feel happy atp)

Boney. M (technically they're reggae but they also count as R&B so idk.. i'm just putting them here if anyone wants me to move them later i will)

Amahla (Ca Suffit was so good and got me to check out the rest of her music, YOU SHOULD TOO!!)

Mary J Blige (not to judge but like... if u don't know THE queen then idk how to help you tbh)

SZA (wouldn't be a list without her in it tbh. i'm in love w her not even joking abt that)

Kali Uchis (to this day i cannot believe i saw her live i'm truly never getting a better moment than that omggg i have such a big crush on her anyway)

Aupinard (if ever u need to just vibe, this is the man u go to.)

Wejdene (TU PARLES AVEC UNE ANISSA MA MOI J'APPELLE WEJDENE- she's been my day 1 since i was like thirteen i can't even lie)

Annisse (just found out she only has like ~500 listeners on spotify??? apparently i'm one of them tho lmao so yeah go get that number up guys i love her too much for this disrespect)

Sister Sledge

Cheryl Lynn

Reggae:

Daddy Yankee (he's an honourable mention cause i couldn't not lmao)

Skindred (they're a reggae/metal fusion band and i will shut up abt them when i'm dead bc Nobody rewired my brain chemistry!!)

Manu Chao

Toquinho (i was so convinced this man was bossa nova but apparently he is reggae and i need to do some music theory review)

Folk:

Sushi Soucy (oh the things I Deserve to Bleed had me going thru in 2020/2021)

Miriam Makeba (Pata Pata should be enough to get anyone listening to her, just saying)

Lead Belly (do urself a favour and do some research on this man, i'm not kidding even if u don't like folk music u should know abt him- ESPECIALLY if u like Nirvana that'll make sense later trust)

Pop:

Corinne Bailey Rae (she has so much good music that gets ignored bc of Put Your Records On so.. yeah go listen to Black Rainbows she's only gotten better as time goes on lol)

Dru (he is for any person who likes ke$ha. i'm so serious he is early 2000s in a bottle and i love his music ur rlly missing out if u ignore him)

Monique Hasbun (found her recently! she's a Palestinian, Mexican and Salvadorian artist who plays around with Latin pop and does a lot of fusion music. she's dope go listen to her fr)

Mohammad Assaf (he made the Palestine song that's been going around ig a lot, but his other stuff is great as well. he's another Palestinian artist, so once again, go check him out!!)

Pinkpanthress (i LOVE her she's so much fun to just vibe to and idk how anyone couldn't have heard of her atp but then again this is the sight that didn't know who drake was so... sigh. go listen to her if u don't already!!)

Aliyah's Interlude (BROOO if u haven't heard of her actually go listen rn i'm so serious she is so good i can'ttttt ok bye)

Veondre (had a collab w Aliyah on It Girl and is gonna be releasing her own music very soon! she's trans too so go give her some love)

Shalco (wasn't sure whether to put him here or in hip hop, but his stuff is very very good either way)

Ado (she's j-pop but it's a form of pop so into the pop category she goes)

Moon (she's got two songs out rn, Moonlight and Seoul City Drift, and both r going on loop in my head at all times)

Jay Chou (call me a basic bitch idc he's good ok)

Atarashii Gakko! (i wouldn't say they're j-pop, but google did, so i'm just going w it lol)

flowerovlove (just trust me on this one)

El Tio Gamboin (Los Gatitos is such a cute song)

Grace Chang (see note for Jay Chou)

King Gnu (for all my j-pop lovers... come get ur man)

Salsa:

Lalo Rodriguez (included this genre specifically so i could mention him)

Adalberto Santiago

Roberto Roena (he's a classic i can't lie)

Hector Lavoe (i think he might be the most popular one in this genre lol)

City Pop (this is its own genre bc i literally did a presentation in high school abt it and i'll be damned if i don't flex my knowledge now):

Mariya Takeuchi

Miki Matsubara (my QUEEN my everything my-)

Anri

Taeko Onuki (one of my most listened to artists last yr for a Reason)

Kaoru Akimoto

Kingo Hamada

Jun Togawa

Bossa Nova:

Joao Gilberto (ooo he gets me every time i fucking love this man)

Elizeth Cardoso

Johnny Alf (forgot this man the first time around my bad BUT he's called the father of bossa nova for a reason so)

Hip Hop:

Flyana Boss (they're sooooo good i actually can't gush enough i have never felt so girlypop listening to music before go listen to them!! found the duo through ig so yeah if u want go follow them on there too to show support)

Lil Uzi Vert (for any emo lovers, go check out his song Werewolf with Bring Me the Horizon it is SO GOOD)

Samyra (she's slowly curing my body dysmorphia lol)

Yame (there's an accent on the e but idk how to do that on tumblr. anyway my ass loves french rap and before him i was stuck with klub des loosers so he saved my faith in the genre i can't even lie)

Lay Bankz (u cannot be chronically online and not have heard Ick yet, but i'm repping her regardless bc SHE'S SO GOOD)

A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie (HEAR ME OUT-)

Kaliii (Area Codes was one of my most listened to songs last year... as it should be tbh)

Miguel (he does R&B too i just first listened to him bc of his collab w J.Cole sooo)

Tyler the Creator (putting him on here just to brag abt getting to see him in concert lmao)

XXXTentacion (he has been mourned and talked abt an insane amount, but he deserves it i'm not even gonna joke on this one. his artistry is insane and he deserves some love if u haven't listened to him yet)

Kendrick Lamar (i mean i've been reblogging stuff abt him enough. Mr. Morale was actually the album that made me start Listening listening to him and i'm honestly glad it was bc that album is still my favourite to this day if i'm being totally honest)

Renaissauce (criminally and i do mean CRIMINALLY underrated)

#ok i'm stopping here bc i'm a little scared that tumblr is gonna crash on me soon #but u guys get the point #if anyone wants an extension of this list w more genres i would be happy to provide btw #this felt so chaotic to make but it was rlly fun to go through my spotify and actually check the artists i listen to #idk sometimes u just have to remind yourself that you do in fact have good music sometimes lol #music #kendrick lamar #tyler the creator #kali uchis #samara joy #music recs #was contractually obligated to make this after seeing how white some ppl's playlists r apparently #and like guys... you've got no excuse if my white ass can find time to appreciate music #plus these artists r all amazing on their own anyway so check them out regardless #also i'm so sorry to my moots for not shutting up abt music lately #apparently i had a lot of feelings abt it that i have not been getting of my chest so #i'll be back to posting the norm soon (although what even is the norm for me lol)

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rafedaddy01 · 1 year ago

Text

“I think I Love you Baby”

Summary: Rafe finds a new toy that he can corrupt, but he doesn’t expect to fall madly in love with her..

Requests are always welcomed!

A/n: this is something that’s been in my drafts forever and tbh I’m pretty proud of it, lmk what you guys think.

Rafe Cameron.

The boy who you’ve been in love with since grade school. The most popular boy in school.

He never paid any attention to you. Why would he? You were just a low life.

Sure you were a kook, but you weren’t like the girls he had his arm around every week.

You were invisible to him.

That is until you got invited to a party by mistake.

You entered the party wearing a white sundress with a matching headband. Your long hair flowing in the back, ending just above your butt.

You looked hot. Not your usual attire, but you were feeling rather bold tonight.

As soon as you entered a drink was put into your hand.

You don’t usually drink alcohol, but you figured if you’d try to get Rafes attention tonight a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt.

After about 5 drinks you stumbled onto the dance floor.

“Oh I love this song!” You squealed as you started swaying your hips.

The alcohol running through your body making you hot and your vision blur as you swayed left to right, left to right.

Too caught up in your own drunkness and not caring who was watching you, a familiar smell enclosed from behind you.

“You sure know how to get a guys attention” his voice whispered in your ear as he pressed up behind you.

He rested his hands on your waist, rocking his hips with yours.

You giggled as his nose nudged your neck, laying small kisses onto it.

You leaned your head back against his chest and gave into his touch.

The song ended and he flipped you around.

Coming face to face with Rafe, Your cheeks flushed red as your nerves got the best of you.

“Ah baby, don’t tell me your getting all nervous now. After grinding up on me and giving me this..” he raised his eyebrows as you both looked down at his growing erection.

You had yet to speak.

“It’s okay. I like the shy ones” he leaned into your ear, brushing your hair off your shoulder

“Easier to corrupt” his whisper sent goosebumps to your skin and caused the wetness in your panties to flood even more.

A small whimper left your lips.

“I- please” you weren’t sure what you were asking for, but it sure had some effect on rafe.

He groaned as he looked at your face.

‘So pure, so innocent’ rafe thought as he watched you squirm and your thighs clench shut.

“Let’s go upstairs” he said, grabbing your hand and leading you through the party and up the stairs to a spare room.

You walked in and Rafe locked the door behind you.

“I realized I don’t even know your name” he said turning around to face you.

He smiled, a genuine smile.

“Y/n” you squeaked out as you looked down at your feet.

“Rafe” he answered back

“I know” you muttered as you built the courage to look up.

He pressed his tongue on the inside of his cheek and laughed as he walked a bit closer.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around, you must be new” he said pushing a stand of hair behind your ear.

You shook your head

Unable to form any words from how close he was to you, from how he was touching you, from how is smell encased your nose. It was all too much and it felt like a dream.

He smirked at your awkwardness.

“Your so cute” he said coming a bit closer to your face.

“Ca- can I kiss you?” He asked

You nodded your head as you made eye contact with him.

His baby blue irises piercing into yours.

He tangled his fingers into your hair and brought his free hand up to your chin, gripping it with his thumb and lifting your head up

He brought his lips down to yours.

The kiss was soft at first.

Eventually his tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing against yours.

A small moan left your throat as he pushed you back against the bed, never separating your lips.

He pulled back and examined you.

Your hair sprawled out on the comforter. Your cheeks flushed and your lips plump.

His eyes went lower as he stared at your tits, nipples pebbling against the fabric.

“I can’t wait to ruin you, gonna turn you into my little sex kitten” he growled as his lips attached to yours once again

“Rafe..” you huffed as his kissed travelled lower to your neck, collarbone and chest.

“What is it baby?” He purred in between kisses to your shoulder.

“I- I need you to touch me” you said nervously as you bit your lip.

You were so desperate and embarrassed you couldn’t look at him, instead your eyes focused on the ceiling above you.

“Look at me” he said sternly as his fingertips danced on your thigh.

You looked down a took a deep breath as you made eye contact.

“Where do you need my touch baby?” He said as his fingers danced higher.

“Here?” He asked as he touched your inner thigh

You shook you head.

“Words” he said staring at you

“If you want something you need to learn to ask for it”

You swallowed hard as your panties soaked even more.

“I- I need you to touch my pussy!” You all but shouted.

He chuckled darkly as he bunched up your dress.

“Now we’re talking”

Part 2

@f4ll-for-you @v21sstuff @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @eventualoptimism

#outer banks #rafe cameron #drew starkey #dark rafe cameron #outerbanks #smut #drewstarkey #drewstarkey smut #rafecameron #fanfic #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe x reader

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 2 months ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐔 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑴𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅

╰┈➤ ❝ shirabu kenjirou x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 6

tags : pwp (without plot), post-timeskip, kissing, cockwarming, teasing, praise, slight dirty talk, vaginal sex (unprotected), tbh nothing much to tag bc this is very much soft and cute, use of pet names “baby” “angel”, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1k

an : in which everyone sees the entirety of my second lead syndrome because i really truly love shirabu to death and i wish more people wrote for him too 😭

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @thoupenguinman @chemiru (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

After a long day of studying, if there is any reward worth waiting for, it's you.

You did this to yourself.

He'd been in another one of those spells of his where he would lock himself in his room and study, and you felt bad…

You were the one who had offered.

And yet here you were, face buried into his chest, voice muffled by his sweatshirt—

You could feel it.

His cock pulsed steadily inside of you, your eyes fluttering at the mere sensation of being so full. Whines fell from your lips, and you would try to move—to shift on his lap, to try to get even the slightest bit of stimulation, doing your very best to hold keep yourself from rocking against him—but it was so difficult.

It was nearly unfair.

How could he act so casual about all of this?

You could hear the familiar sound of his pen scratching against the paper of his notebook, and while you would normally find it comforting, now it was anything but.

“‘Jirooo…”

Again you nuzzled into his chest, feeling his free hand dig its nails into the exposed skin on your waist in warning. A little hum was all else that you got in reply; he kept writing, attention focused on his notes with that same aura of concentration that had always had you so completely and utterly enthralled by him. Just the thought of it made you clench around his cock, and he pressed into your skin once more.

Pen placed gently back on the table, you heard the faint flip of a page—his textbook, you assumed. And you knew that there was nothing you could do in this moment to get him to fuck you.

He had his arm draped over you to keep you in place. Mostly it stayed still, occasionally it would rub up and down your back, a silent and wordless encouragement. You had to be good. You knew that. If there was anything you knew about him—and, arguably, you knew quite a lot—it was that there was always a price to pay for going against his wishes. And Shirabu told you not to move.

So despite the buzzing ache for you to chase your pleasure, despite the heat pooling between your legs and leaking down onto his lap, you waited.

You waited.

Until you could feel him let out a slow breath, his cock twitching in a way that had you gasping, and his hand reached up to cradle you in his arms.

His head, too, rest on your shoulder. His breath fanned over your skin, and much to your delight, he moved.

Just the slightest buck of his hips, his cock pressing even further into you.

“Mmh… You've been so good waiting for me, baby…”

He murnured against your skin, leaning over to place hot, open-mouthed kisses, licking and breathing into you as if the last vestiges of his self control had finally begun to dissipate.

His hands trailed down the side of your body, savoring your whimpers, moving to rest on either side of your hips.

“Are you needy, baby?” he whispered.

The nod of your head wasn't enough for him.

“Hmm… But you're so quiet. Maybe you're not so needy after all, huh?”

You could hear the smirk on his face—you couldn't see it, but you could hear it. The image in your head was clear.

“N-no, ‘Jiro, please…” you whined. “M'needy! Want you so bad…”

“Mhm. And you have me. Right, angel? You're so warm around me, I could stay like this forever…”

He almost laughed; you could tell he wanted to.

But instead of doing so, his hand reached up to play with your hair, a delicate silence permeating the atmosphere before he coaxed your head up to look at him.

And, ah, he was beautiful.

Anytime he would do this, you couldn't help but get lost in his eyes, a brown so beautifully alluring that you could, truly, look at him all day and never quite get tired of it.

“Pretty baby,” he smiled at you. Soft, and gentle, and you could see all the stress in the back of his mind slowly begin to fade. “I love you. You know that, right? Thank you for keeping me company…”

A lock of your hair was pushed aside, as if to get a better look at your face, and then his hands were back at your hips—slowly moving them to rock against him, slow, puffy breaths leaving his lips at the friction the two of you were finally feeling.

“My reward,” he whispered.

He leaned in, and you gladly fell into him, sighing delightfully as your lips met his.

It was a slow, tender kiss. Your hips easily found a ruythm, little jolts of pleasure shooting through your body with every roll of your hips. With gasps and moans swallowed into kisses, he fucked you gently, carefully, equally granting you your reward as much as he was claiming his own.

“Mmnn… mnh—! ‘Ji—’Jiro—”

You fell forward into his embrace once more, frinding down on him, feeling the fat tip of his cock nudge at your sweet spot to make you shudder. Your arms wrapped around him desperately, wanting to feel him as close as possible… and he smiled.

There was a kiss placed on the top of your head before he began to lift you up off his lap ever so slightly, before bringing you down.

Your eyes widened, and you choked back a moan—

“K-Ken—ji—!”

Again.

Never too much, not quite being rough with you, but not quite being gentle. Just enough to push his cock in and out of you the way that you liked, rubbing deliciously against your gummy walls, fully claiming your heat as his own.

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” he murmured.

You could barely answer. He felt too good.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you whimpered against him, and you fisted his sweatshirt—a mix of yes's and broken moans of his name were all that he could hear, along with the muted sound of skin against skin, the all-too-familiar smell of sex filling the air around you.

“All gone already, angel? I've barely started, you know?” he grunted, picking up the pace, the smile in his voice never leaving.

A smile of satisfaction—a smile of pride.

And when all you could do was nod, he gripped your hips tighter, and easily began to slam you down on his cock, any sense of self-control completely gone.

“That's my girl. You take me so well, baby. Gonna fuck you so good.”

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#roxie; rtkkinktober24 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu shirabu #shirabu kenjirou #shirabu smut #shirabu kenjirou smut #shirabu x reader #shirabu x you #shirabu #shirabu kenjiro

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year ago

Text

cursed hours, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You know what your boyfriend is? That's right – horny. (Can relate.) And, you know what, you are too. Jeon Jungkook is super mega ultra hot. (Facts.) But. Even you don't fuck doing cursed hours. You try to delicately explain to your love that there are, in fact, suboptimal times to be asking for banging. (This conversation ends exactly in the way that everyone is predicting.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; playful banter and shitty jokes; in which Jungkook tries to listen to your grievance but then he remembers what you look like naked and then the Calvin Klein's fly off; crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, ball torture JK is a freak, m-receiving oral, handjob, edging, penetrative sex (doggy), clitoral stimulation, m-masturbation); squabbling tbh; non-idol!BTS - short black-haired!JK with his two lip rings; the parenthesis are the reader’s inner thoughts

crackhead best laid plans / counter point / well dressed couple no need to read the others, but they’re there if you want more happy birthday, Jungkook! XD

It was the middle of the day.

“We need to talk.”

Your boyfriend and absolute love of your life, Jean Jungkook, vehemently shook his head and puffed his cheeks. It was quite sad to see that all of his previously bleach-blond (read: extremely fried) long waves were gone, but his current shorter black hair made him look even younger (carding territory, for real). At least he got another lip ring next to his first one. Not really to make up for anything. Just because he felt like being your forever wet dream (he was, keke).

You cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“No talk.” He stuck his tongue out (the disrespect, hah). “Nothing good comes out of your girlfriend saying, we need to talk.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out (or in… yet). He had a point. He wasn’t going to like what you had to say. (Be strong!) You had to say it anyway.

“Jeon Jungkook, you can't wake me up at six in the morning with your rock-hard dick shoved against my ass cheeks and expect me to have enough brain function to cooperate.”

Big pout. The biggest pout with the biggest peepers.

“But... I'm horny.”

Irrefutable argument, surely. He was horny.

(Yeah, when are you not?)

You laid down the law with vigorous hand waving. “Two in the morning? Okay. Three? Eh, pushing it but I can sleep right after. But six? Six in the morning?! That is too much. That (that) is cursed hours. There’s no way I can go back to sleep then. Cursed. I’m not a morning person. You’re not a morning person. Why is you dick awake?”

Big shrug. (Big dick too, wait, what?) “He’s an all-day person,” he nodded sagely. “Your tits and butt are right there. What can I do?”

Your eyes twitched.

“You’re the one who wants me to sleep in panties!”

Your boyfriend shook his head primly (and childishly and one-hundred percent like a freaking annoying little shit). “No,” Jungkook clarified. Very serious. Too serious. “I want you to sleep naked. You’re the one being unreasonable.”

You gasped dramatically. “I’m not waking up with jizz all over me… again!”

“Hence the compromise! That’s why I wake you up first… and then jizz all over you!”

This conversation would be a lot more (ahem) concerning if Jungkook wasn’t grinning like a madman and you weren’t clutching your non-existent pearls in a state of fabricated shock (although you would have pearls if he jizzed all over your neck right now, eh, eh, okay, never mind), anyway, you knew damn well that Jungkook would probably stop for, mmmm, a couple weeks, then promptly forget this conversation, and inevitably wake you up way too early to hump your sleepy ass (literally).

You weren’t with him because he listened (we can see that).

“I am just saying,” you lowered your tone, still lighthearted but somewhat stern now. “If you want me to be receptive and not grumpy, six in the morning is not the time. You can rub yourself all over me if you want but it’s very unlikely that I will be in the mood. I don’t want to get mad to you. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Jungkook firmly nodded. Ah, he understood! Finally. He raised his rigid hand against his temple in salute.

“Okay. From now on, I’ll hump you to completion instead.”

You gave him a blank stare of utter disbelief.

That playful grin with those gleaming lip rings bounced forward and tackled you onto the bed as you continued gawking at him, shell-shocked. Really? (Really, dude?) But you could tell he was apologetic, showering your neck and cheeks with kisses, saying between blossoming laughter, “Sorry, sorry, you just look so cute when you’re mad,” and you were trying to stay mad. The principle of it all. Hmph! “I’m mad!” You vocalized with a huff. Maybe if you said it, you would mean it. (You didn’t.) “Yep, you’re definitely mad, so mad…!” This idiot was repeatedly mushing your cheeks with his big palms and deliberately piling on the aegyo. You squinted your eyes into lines. “Stop messing with my cheeks!” “Don’t wanna!”

You chopped his head.

“Yah!”

Your idiot – cough, sorry, boyfriend, love of your life, darling, all that fluff stuff – made a fake dying noise but you didn’t catch on to his admission of defeat (couldn’t trust it anyway, this was Jeon Jungkook), and grabbed his wrist, pinning it down onto the bed and getting right up in his face, planting your palm his broad chest and shoving him (which did approximately nothing, you really do need to work out).

“I’m being serious here. I’m telling you something that would piss me off and you hate it when I’m mad at you so I’m warning you in advance. I’m working on myself too, but sunrise is really pushing it,” you emphasized, practically sitting in his lap now, your (his) big white t-shirt spilling over his bare thighs. Nobody wore pants in this household. Jungkook could barely keep his underwear on (foreshadowing). “I didn’t want to get mad at you this morning out of nowhere, but you’re not good at taking the hint.”

Those glittering chocolate eyes softened. “Oh. I’m sorry. I get excited…”

“And you can get excited,” you sighed, letting go of his wrist and patting the top of his head. “I only want you to be aware of how I’m feeling at that time and it’s a whole lot of why do humans have to sleep, waking up sucks ass. Not good for horny.”

Damn, these big rueful peepers were going to be the death of you. “You know me. I like being with you more than anything in the world. I don’t like being without you. Even sleeping is such a pain,” Jungkook finished with a puff.

You smacked his (very firm) chest. “I’m not telling you leave me alone. Just don’t ask me to fuck, because the answer is most likely going to be no at that time of day. Wait for me to wake up, at least!”

“But…!”

He grabbed the front of your (his) shirt and you tensed, thinking he was about to shake you, adjusting to be a bit more stable on his legs and then your shin slid to the front of his crotch and both of you abruptly fell silent (a shocking moment in this household).

“Jungkook.”

He was trying very hard not to grin but you could see it in those dark brown orbs.

“Yeah?”

He really was your favorite person. Really. He had an intense, passionate outlook on life. Tried hard at everything and made a fuss when certain things didn’t work out as he planned. Slowly learned to let things go but still picked up too many interests. Still thought he could do anything (and you believed with him, so maybe you were both the problem). Jungkook always told you he was grateful that you were so into about the things you liked (read: obsessive), because he made him feel less weird, made him feel that someone could match his energy, made him feel like he finally met his person, someone loved to live life as much as he did.

Romantic, yeah?

“Why is your dick hard?” you accused.

Your (lovable but idiot) boyfriend grinned. “Just remembering what you look like naked.”

Really romantic.

Yeah.

“Oh?”

You backed off his lap and forced his legs open.

“W-W-Wait–”

Which was how you ended up yoinking off Jungkook’s Calvin Klein's (with force and a tangle of legs and maybe a yelp if you bothered to listen), and did not take off your shirt as you got to your knees and curled your tongue around his already-hard-and-getting-harder cock. Sure, he was saying stuff (blah blah that’s not fair blah, the usual), but you cared not. Zero fucks given. Hey, if Jungkook was going to be all horny on you whenever he felt like it, you were going to give it to him whenever you felt like it too. He needed to be punished for being insufferable!

(Never mind that this has been going on for years.)

“Come on, take off your… oooh, fuck…”

(Your predictable arguments ended in predictable ways.)

You spared no expense. Tongue all over his length. Dripping saliva. Porn-star-esque, complete with the slurping it all back up and jamming the head of that throbbing cock into the back of your throat, squishing it against the pocket of saliva. Nasty. Yo, you didn’t have sex to be elegant. You had sex to watch Jungkook’s torso shudder uncontrollably and hear him whine in the middle of him yanking off his oversized black t-shirt, his head of crazy messy black hair popping out. You watched as he emerged like a just-saved, half-drowned vacationer and then his eyes rolled back like he had been knocked out, all while you bounced your head up and down, running your tongue along the base and his balls, making sure to be extra soft at the tip and caress the slit with the gentlest of kisses. Not enough to pressure to really get him off, but so much pleasure, lovingly swirling your tongue around and pressing your lips against the sensitive skin.

Then you did what any reasonable person would do (heh) and replaced your soothing mouth with your punishing grip, pumping him roughly.

“Gah!”

Your tongue circled around his balls and both slid into your mouth, sucking on them as you jacked him off. Any intelligent response was immediately annihilated by the gargling moan Jungkook choked out, falling back to his hands. Mmmm, those arms. The tension was making his muscles bulge, the dark colorful tattoos on his right arm gleaming in the bedroom light, his left just as shapely and defined. You switched between each side, sucking and licking and toying with his balls while your hand built up a furious pace, grinning as you felt his length twitch and throb. Glassy, dark brown orbs glanced down to watch, the ends of his black hair stuck to his cheeks, mouth open, pink lips glossy.

The look in those eyes.

So needy.

You delicately trapped one of his balls between your teeth and sucked hard before pulling your lips back and grinning. The reaction was immediate. The shiver visible, the hitched breath sharp, the tremble lingering at his shoulders, exasperation and desire flashing over his expression. Jungkook pleaded with you, knowing full well he didn’t want you to listen to a single word he was saying.

“N-No, please, d-don’t make me a f-freak…”

(Not sure how to tell you this, Jungkook, but you’ve been a freak since day one.)

“You like it,” you replied (with his nut in your mouth, smacking it with your tongue as you spoke). “Don’t lie to me.”

“No, I like it when you’re nice,” Jungkook stressed and he was very stressed because your hand was slowing down and that was not a good sign.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted. Totally unnecessary but totally necessary. You let go of his cock and switched balls, squeezing the other saliva-covered one in a slippery, punishing grip that make Jungkook yelp with an edge of panic.

His cock jolted, sticking straight up.

You gave him the look of see what I see?

Jungkook sputtered, frantically waving his hand about. “N-No! It’s not what it looks like!”

(It’s not… it’s not what it looks like? What does it look like then, huh?!)

You raked your teeth over his balls and started sucking and tugging on them.

His right hand instantly flew to his dick (bombastic side-eye) and he started desperately jacking himself off as you used precise pressure and tongue to tease him. He was loudly moaning in reckless abandon, “H-Harder, yeah, like that, oooh, fuck, yes, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop” (criminally offensive side-eye), but you obeyed, gripping the inside of his thigh and ravishing his balls. You could barely see from your peripheral vision but you could certainly feel the force of Jungkook’s firm, tight grip around his stiff length.

Damn.

Your panties were also getting uncomfortably drenched.

Suddenly his hand froze up, his whole arm shaking. You glanced up. White teeth biting the left edge of his lower lip, lashes fluttering, jaw clenched. Muffled scream in his throat. The line from his neck to torso to abs to crotch to tattooed hand choking his hard cock was incredibly hot. Even hotter was how dark the head was becoming, angry purple-red and beading pearly translucent pre-cum.

“Fuck, I almost came, fuck…”

(Was that not the goal or are we missing something here?)

You spoke sloppily with his nut halfway in your mouth.

“Thought you were going to jizz all over me.”

His dark brows furrowed, gasping for breath, trembling all over. “You know I would ask you first, I’m not a big meanie,” Jungkook pouted, opening his eyes when you knocked away his hand, then his peepers popping open wide as you picked up his vicious pace with a smirk, lowering your shoulder to squeeze his balls at the same time (zero chill here). It could have been your name somewhere in that strangled moan. Could have, but it wasn’t that discernable and you were unbothered, even as his hands flew up and grabbed your (his) shirt, practically ripping it off in frustration.

“Please, ack, please…!”

You stopped.

Jungkook nearly yelled bloody murder and snatched you by the waist, lifting you far too easily. He was two beats away from suplex-ing you onto the bed if it wasn’t for the horny beating out his frustration of being edged for the second? third? whatever time. You were almost worried (not really), but everything worked out (kind of). There were always condoms on the nightstand (for reasons) and it took Jungkook record time to rip one open and slide it on before forcefully grabbing your ass (you had been trying to move away for… reasons) and dragging you back to him from a growl, flipping the bottom of your (his) shirt up.

Somehow, in the tangle of legs and arms, you had managed to slip off your panties and put them on the other nightstand so Jungkook wouldn’t rip them off your body.

(It has happened before.)

At the sight of your naked and wet pussy, Jungkook forgot how to be mad.

“Oh!”

You looked back to see a pair of shining, starry-eyed dark brown orbs.

“You really do love me.”

You blinked at him (what do you say to that?). “Y… Yeah? Woah!”

Turned out horny also beats out romance (?) and now Jungkook was balls deep and you were gasping and beating up the pillows in attempt to get your bearings because, holy fuck, he was insanely hard (scientific term). Your lower torso dropped and you both moaned in unison, satisfaction from the sudden depth, the ache perfectly fulfilled at this angle. Thrust in, push back, overwhelming rush heating up your chest and down your legs, beginning right where you both left off.

Rough, fast, and deep.

Your (and probably his) knees were really feeling it. You didn’t care. (Classic.) The fullness was unbearable and addictive and it made your walls spasm, squeezing around him as your eyelids fluttered, skin prickling hot and heartbeat leaping to your throat. The wave swelled in your chest and pooled down, amplifying the sensation of slapping hips, pitching your moan, you fucking him and him fucking you, a joint effort, the grip on your hips tightening, fuck, he was so strong, not slowing down even in the middle of your orgasm, your mind fizzling to white noise.

And then.

You suddenly realized it was weirdly silent behind you.

You tried not to snort in laughter (being nice, of course) as you realized Jungkook was whining behind his bitten lip, trying desperately not to cum in your crushing fervor. Not that you were going to let up. Absolutely not. In fact, you moaned breathily and reached back with one hand, tugging on the flapping shirt and pulling it over your head, bunching it up. Heard him gasp, but now your hair was all over your face (didn’t think that through, did you). There was no time to correct. You shoved the ball of fabric under your chin and dropped your shoulders, ramming back into his crotch with a wet smack, a vicious bolt of painful pleasure flaring up your inner thighs and spreading over your lungs, knocking the wind out of you.

“Ah, Jungkook!”

Didn’t think that through, did you?

You nearly choked on your own moan (and a mouthful of your own hair), entire body shaking from the force of orgasm bursting within, your inner walls clamping down and hips flinching, carnal pulse radiating throughout your core, breathless, lust-blindness, your ass jerking forward from another powerful thrust, and then Jungkook made a series of noises that could only be described as unholy.

(Wanton moaning, spitting swears, using various higher entities’ names in vain, things like that.)

You basically faceplanted into the t-shirt, vibrating from the high.

Down for the count.

But not out.

You reached back and wrapped your fingers around Jungkook’s balls, firmly squeezing.

He let out a quivering groan of approval, long fingers on your hips tightening, pressing his twitching cock inside you. No intention of leaving. The tension was so electric that you could feel the sparks flying up your belly (or was that your arm falling asleep from this unnatural position, who knows) and you sucked in a ragged breath, not sure what was coming over you but it was so unbelievably arousing that all you could do was smile.

Well.

You couldn’t really breathe since you were mostly face-first into the mattress.

Thankfully, Jungkook had a brain (bless) and sighed contentedly, sliding his hot (read: scorching) hands up your sides and pulling your body up. You let go of his nuts, panting, feeling him slide out, drawing in a tight breath – his skin like fiiiiiiire (don’t sing it) – relaxing as you felt his fingers fan out over your breasts.

This was nice.

He squeezed your breasts and toyed with your nipples, sending pleasing tingles all over.

“My back is getting sweaty,” you chuckled. “You’re burning up.”

“No, you’re hot.”

Whines (his) and a flop onto the bed later (you), and you ended up on your back, catching your breath while looking up at the ceiling. Ah, that was nice. You didn’t think too much about your limbs akimbo. There wasn’t any shame. After all, this was your home and this was your love. Attentive, caring, enthusiastic (about laundry and dishes and fucking especially) love of your life Jeon Jungkook who was definitely not a freak. Nope.

You felt a hand on your knee.

Then you felt your legs being dragged apart even wider.

The slapping sound of hand on dick.

Eh?

You turned your head to see Jungkook masturbating while staring at your pussy, used condom still on the bed. Oi! How was he still going? You were pretty sure he blasted out several nuts worth of cum (and the fullness of that used condom was the visible proof, oop).

“Hey. I’m still here,” you reminded him.

Heavy exhale and brief glance at your tits. “I know,” Jungkook shuddered, voice low and gravelly. “And you’re so fucking beautiful, fuck.”

“I’m not a porn video,” you joked, secretly enjoying how heatedly he was getting himself off to your sexy bits.

“You really need to make some for me,” he replied absentmindedly, reaching out to spread your pussy lips. You flexed them. They made a wet, lewd sound. Obscene. Jungkook moaned and tightened his grip, speeding up, running his finger over your exposed clit. “At least send nudes.”

“I’m physically next to you almost all the time,” you gasped. “Whachu need nudes for?”

This really wasn’t the time for a full-on conversation and soon you both forgot about it, lost in the haze of pleasure. Your eyes slid shut, arms fanned out over the bed, back arching, following that racing feeling. Basking in it. You were sure he was watching and you let him enjoy the show, spreading your legs and letting your hips be guided by his rough fingertip, clenching your jaw at the sensitivity. Almost too much was the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing over your throbbing nerves, aching tension dispersing over your muscles, nearly uncontrollable, so close to the edge, his name in a husky whisper, closer, listening to his breathing shallow, tighten, closer…

Your eyes opened, lids heavy, watching him though lashes and the haze of moans.

Jungkook was gazing back at you, up and down, lust-drunk on your body, his chest flexing, his black hair over his eyes, sweat beading along his temples, shuddering again at your eye contact.

“You… You fuck me up.”

You smiled and was about to say, you too, but then your pent-up orgasm shot up your torso and you hissed at the intensity, your hand flying down and harshly gripping his wrist. Head snapping back, spine arcing, mouth open to an airless moan, fighting to leave your lungs as the powerful continuous flinching overtook your hips, each pulse thundering against his fingertip, your juices seeping out.

Slick painted over your pussy lips clenching around nothing.

Jungkook sucked in his inhale and groaned, cupping his palm around the head of his cock. Heat and tremors and visible lust, the pleasure sinking, sinking, and you heard Jungkook whimper, looking down to see that his hand was turned, his long fingers digging into the soft dip of his balls and roughly massaging them as he came.

You watched.

Glanced up at his face.

Your boyfriend glared back.

“Don’t… say… anything…” he wheezed.

You did not listen.

(No one is surprised.)

“You’re a slutty freak, huh.”

“Oi!” he barked, yanking his hand away from you, and then his face contorted, instantly regretting vacating your pussy. You peeled open your puffy lower lips with two fingers and wiggled your tongue at him. “Hey! Stop that. I’ll–”

Faster than light (and smoother than butter), you shot off the bed as Jungkook threatened you with his cum-covered hand. “I don’t think so!” All these years with Jeon Jungkook and he still looked shocked when you knew exactly what he was thinking. “Get back here!” You did not. You ran to the bathroom instead and proceeded to fight on opposite sides of the door as he tried to get in and you tried to lock it.

“Why are you only strong at times like this?” Jungkook whined as you threw your weight into the door and locked him (and his cum hand) out. “Let me in!”

“No! Not until you wash your hand in the kitchen.”

“I promise not to wipe it on you.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Which is not very far.”

“You should!”

“Throw you?”

The whine on the other side pitched. “Open the door…”

You sighed. (Uh oh.) Opened the door. (Duck!) And smacked Jungkook’s wrist as he tried to wipe his dried cum onto you in a bout of maniacal laughter. (You punk!) Naked wrestling match (nice) and some neck chopping infused minutes later, you managed to shove Jungkook’s right hand under the sink faucet and blast water over it, fiercely gripping (and very much enjoying) his forearm to prevent him from being a brat.

And he was laughing, the bubbly sound drifting between you and him, laughing with his left arm around your waist and his face in the crook of your shoulder and neck, his warm breath tickling your skin, pulling your close as you vainly tried to avoid his sweat (failing spectacularly). Asshat.

He sighed, breathless and shivery, nuzzling your jaw with his (big) nose.

“I love you.”

He was a freaking annoying brat but he was your freaking annoying brat and, to be honest, you loved it.

“I love you too. If you splash water on me, I will waterboard you next time we shower together.”

Jungkook pouted and squeezed your boobs with his left hand. Now that was talent.

“Aw, how’d you know…”

You turned the water off.

“Stop playing with my tits.”

“My nutties are sore. It’s the least you can do.”

“You did that to yourself.”

“Nu uh. I’m wholesome.”

(The lie detector test determined that was a lie.)

in which Jungkook's dick -accidentally- slips and falls into your mouth when you're asleep (oh no) night sucker

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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